Scar Tissue 2: Irreversible Damage
by Queen of Kaos
Summary: Sequel to Scar Tissue. What started as a casual fling is evolving into something more. Can Trish and Randy embrace a real relationship, or have they both been damaged beyond repair?
1. Beautiful Lie

**A/N: One of the first wrestling stories I posted on this site (actually, it was more like the third, but who's counting anymore) was called Scar Tissue. I never intended to write a sequel, and to be quite honest, I had nearly forgotten the story. But, as you probably know if you've read any of my shit, my muses don't really give a fuck what I have planned. Last night, I was listening to Ashley Parker Angel's album, Soundtrack to Your Life, and I just kept coming back to the Randy and Trish I had created in Scar Tissue.**

**As always, your reviews are encouraged and much appreciated. Enjoy!

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**Scar Tissue 2: Irreversible Damage**

_"Here comes another sunrise, like a broken promise in the skies. It's about to be a different day, but you keep on living that same old lie."_

* * *

_Casual sex: A game devised by a man who wants pussy without commitment, played on a woman who wants affection at any cost. _

_A woman who grew up believing that life really was a fairy tale with a happily ever after. One who spent her days looking out the window, waiting with wild anticipation for Prince Charming to ride in on his white horse and save her from whatever it was she thought she needed to be saved from. A woman who truly believed that the Prince who entered the tower wanted everything that she wanted. And a woman scorned by the heartache and embarrassment of that same Prince taking her in his arms, only to dump her out the window into the muddy moat below._

_Damn, I'm bitter tonight. Fuck. I blame Orton - mostly because I always blame Orton. I should have known better than to ever think this could be a real relationship. Not that it would matter if it was. Not with Orton being fucking Orton, which by definition means he's physically incapable of keeping his dick inside his pants._

_I actually thought that we might grow into something other than fuck buddies. Not that I had any reason to believe that our little "situation" would evolve, I guess. But there was that day, at the gym, when we actually connected. Not just at the "boy and girl" parts. We had an emotional connection. And that's when all the shit got fucked up. What the fuck was I thinking was going to happen?_

_He's not the kind of guy who's ever going to settle down. Even when he's fifty, he'll be a bachelor. And when the fuck did I start thinking I wanted him to settle down anyway? Wasn't the point of this little arrangement to get me over Carter and into a world where emotions don't have any say over action? Jesus Christ, I blame Orton for this. I'm so going to kick his ass when he gets in._

With a firm dot of the final "i," Trish dropped her journal into the carry-on bag beside her bed and settled in between the cold, uncaring sheets of the bed she would call hers for the night.

They had an open relationship, if it could be called a relationship at all. Randy still insisted, after seven months, that he didn't do girlfriends. Trish was still adamant that she didn't want, or need, a boyfriend. But they always seemed to find their way back into each other's arms.

It wasn't ideal. But Trish had convinced herself that if she didn't have expectations, she couldn't be disappointed. After all, she'd had ideal with Carter Schaefer, her long-time boyfriend, and it hadn't ended so well. In reality, Randy was the closest thing to perfect for her, offering her no promises of anything other than great sex.

It had seemed fool-proof, their little faux-relationship. Until her emotions got involved. She could fuck Orton six ways to Sunday, but in the morning, when she rolled over and saw him sleeping peacefully with his arms around her, the tingle she felt wasn't where it was supposed to be. It was in her heart.

She was doing the one thing she had always advised every new girl in the locker room never to do. She was falling for Randy Orton.

* * *

"This is so fucked up." 

Without so much as a glance over his shoulder, Randy focused on tying his shoe as he let out a slight chuckle. "What? Now you have a conscience?"

Mickie James stretched in the bed of her hotel room and stared at the ceiling. She knew it was wrong, for both of them, and she had done it anyway. She had heard all of the voices of all the girls who had warned her. "Randy's goal is to fuck every diva that passes through those doors before he retires. " And she had ignored them all.

Blinking, she felt him stand from the bed. "What are you gonna do when you can't lie anymore?" she said, turning her head to look up at him as he fed his belt through the buckle.

Randy rolled his eyes and grabbed his tee shirt from the chair near the door. "There's something you should know, Sweetheart," he smiled, pulling the shirt over his head. "I don't stick around to chat with the bitches I fuck, okay?" He winked and strapped his watch to his wrist. "Nothing personal."

Struggling to sit, Mickie kept the sheet wrapped tightly around her torso as she pushed her dishevelled hair from her face. "She loves you," she told him. When he finally stopped moving and looked at her, she smiled. "You know that, don't you?"

"What? I'm supposed to take advice from you now?" he said, stuffing his wallet into his back pocket. "Might be easier if that rock your _boyfriend _gave you hadn't scratched my face when I was eating you," he nodded toward the engagement ring on her finger. "Mickie, don't preach at me, okay, Sweetheart? I don't lie to Trish. She knows what I'm all about."

"Maybe I'm not talking about Trish right now," Mickie shot back, tilting her head slightly to consider him.

Pulling his baseball hat low over his eyes, Randy blew her a kiss and shrugged his shoulders. "Thanks for the ride, Kiddo. It was fun."

Shaking his head as he shut the door behind him, Randy pulled a key from his pocket. Heading toward Trish's room, he sniffed his tee shirt to make sure Mickie's smell wasn't too evident. Trish may have known what he was off doing, but he didn't need to literally rub her nose in the fact.

He opened the door to find her sleeping in the center of the bed. He had worked his ass off to get her, and he still wasn't satisfied. It wasn't enough just to make her come when they had sex. It wasn't enough just to make her smile when they talked. It wasn't enough just to get her hotel key and share a bed with her at night.

Even the women he had managed to coerce into bed "against their better judgement" would admit one thing about Randy Orton - he was honest, to a fault. He might be a manipulative bastard, but he was honest about it. With everyone. Almost.

Mickie had been right about one thing. And as he climbed into bed and felt her cuddle against his chest, he finally admitted he that he was, at least in part, lying to himself. Every immunity that he had built to protect himself, to maintain a strict emotional disconnection from anyone who could potentially hurt him, was being infected by Trish.

_So what if it's a lie_, Randy thought as he ran a hand down Trish's smooth back and settled his cheek against her soft, blonde locks. _It's not like it's a bad lie if it keeps me from breaking her heart. Or, more importantly, if it keeps her from breaking mine._


	2. I'm Better

**Scar Tissue 2: Irreversible Damage**

_"Hey, I'm watchin' the worlds collide. Hey, there's nobody else inside. Girls, they don't know what they want. But you, you just walk right in."_

* * *

"So, I heard a rumor," Victoria stated as she slid into the restaurant booth beside her friend, Lita. "Orton tagged Mickie last night." 

Chewing her breakfast, Lita raised an eyebrow and then shrugged. "Another one bites the dust," she smiled, lifting a glass of orange juice to her lips.

Both women knew the charms of Randy Orton first hand, though Lita had far more experience than Victoria ever would. She had been Randy's fall-back girl for years. On the rare occasion that the woman he had chosen for the evening would get cold feet and back out of their little tryst, he would always make his way to her room for consolation.

Not that Lita was hanging her head or feeling like second prize. She had Edge, and she was happy with him, just as she had been happy with Matt Hardy before him. Her only attraction to Randy was physical, and she knew that the feeling was mutual. If he wanted to give her a great night, she would let him, but it was nothing more. And it hadn't happened in months - not since he had finally bedded Trish.

"Morning," Trish smiled as she slid into the booth beside Victoria. "What are we talking about?" The girls shared a look and continued eating. "Me," Trish concluded.

With a sigh, Victoria took a drink from her coffee and turned in the seat to face Trish. "I kinda feel like you should hear this from us, instead of someone else," she started, but then stopped when she looked toward the door. "Ya know what? Nevermind."

Trish turned her head to see Randy enter the restaurant and make his way toward the buffet line with some of the other wrestlers. "I know he fucked Mickie last night," she informed her friends. When they continued looking at their plates, she sighed. "What? You guys think I can't tell which girl he's been with? I've been in the ring with all of them - I know what their perfume smells like, even mixed with sweat."

Dropping her fork to her plate, Lita raised her eyes to Trish. "What the fuck are you doing, Stratus?" she asked suddenly.

Taken aback, Trish held her hands up defensively. "Whoah. What the hell, Li?"

"No, don't pretend you don't know what the fuck I'm talking about." Though her voice was low, her tone was unmistakeable. "Why the fuck are you wasting your time following him around like a fucking bitch puppy?"

Trish opened her mouth to answer, and then shut it again as she noticed Randy approaching the table. "You don't wanna sit here, Orton," she teased.

His blue eyes twinkled as sat next to Lita and leaned over the table to kiss Trish quickly. "Why not?"

"Well," Trish looked around and pointed to a table in the corner. "There's seven Diva search girls over there. Wouldn't want them thinking you've got a girlfriend."

Randy rolled his eyes and reached over to take Trish's hand. "Cute, Stratus. Anyway, I'm not staying," he said, reaching into his pocket. "You left your phone in the room."

Trish accepted it and felt him tighten his grip on her hand. It was moments like this, confusing moments where he seemed focused only on her, that made her question everything she thought she knew about Randy Orton. "I could have just gotten it when I went back up to get my bags," she reminded him, forgetting that her friends were sitting there.

"I already checked us out. Bags are in the car. We'll leave when you're finished," he licked his lips as he spoke, holding her eyes. "Just let me know when."

With another kiss, he was gone. Even knowing that her friends were about to berate her couldn't wipe the smile off of her lips as she watched him leave. "Okay," she finally said with a roll of her eyes. "Tell me how stupid I am."

"What are you guys doing?" Lita asked again, continuing to eat her breakfast as though the young man had never been there. "Are you dating? Fucking? What is this thing you have going?"

"It's a," Trish searched for the right word to describe it, "A situation?"

Lita leaned forward and shook her head in disbelief. "Let me tell you what it is, Trish. It's you falling in love with an asshole who doesn't deserve you, and let's face it, probably doesn't even want you."

"What is this third degree?" Trish asked, also leaning forward. "You jealous he's not running to you in the middle of the night anymore? Pissed that I satisfy him in ways you couldn't?"

A sardonic, almost maniacal laugh sounded from deep in Lita's throat. "Oh yeah, cause you keep him so satisfied, Trish. So satisfied that he still wants to fuck anything with a pussy that comes within thirty feet of him," she motioned with a wide sweep of her arm, hissing through clenched teeth.

"What the fuck do I care who else he's fucking, Lita?" Trish narrowed her eyes and tried to remain unaffected, as though she didn't know the words her friend was spewing were nearly gospel truth.

"You don't even get it, do you?" Lita asked, her shoulders sagging as she sank back in her seat. "You don't even get that he's totally using you for his own pleasure. You're falling in love with him, just like Stacy did, and you can't even see it."

"I gotta admit," Victoria jumped in, hoping to disarm the proverbial bomb before it did any more damage. "I never thought I would see the day you let a guy treat you like he does."

"You guys don't understand."

"You're right," Lita interrupted. "I don't understand because it's completely incomprehensible. It doesn't make any fucking sense, Trish. Don't think you're going to tell me that the few times he makes you smile are worth all the nights you fall asleep alone, knowing he's out there fucking someone else."

"You're the one who told me to realize that he wasn't even capable of being the boyfriend kinda guy," Trish shot, gripping the edge of the table to keep from screaming. "You're the one who said the sex was so great I should just get over the other stuff and be happy that I get a chance to ride his dick on a semi-consistent basis!"

Victoria looked nervously around the room. "Sweetie, people are starting to look," she warned, lowering her head and her voice. "Listen, you know how he is, okay? All we're saying is you need to be careful."

"You guys are making way too big a deal out of this. Relax," Trish sighed. "Randy and I are not exclusive. We're not in a relationship. We can fuck whoever we want."

Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Lita leveled Trish with a firm look. "Then why aren't you sleeping with anyone else?" When Trish lowered her eyes, Lita's tone softened. "Because you only want him. Trish," she said, tapping on the table until she got her friend's attention again. "You want a relationship."

_It doesn't really fucking matter what I want, does it?_ "No, I don't. You guys think I do, but I don't. I had a relationship, remember? They don't work for me. What I have with Randy works, whether you understand it or not." Standing, she smoothed her palms over her jeans and hitched her purse onto her shoulder. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get on the road."

She knew they were right - she was letting him get away with more than she had ever let any guy get away with. But the circumstances were different. And he couldn't break her heart if she didn't let him. Rounding the corner of the building, she steeled her resolve. She had no say over Randy's choices, and she didn't want one. He could do whatever he wanted.

Even if what he wanted was to make out with some random Diva search chick against the side of his car.

With a deep breath, she approached, willing the ache in her chest to cease. "You ready to go, Orton?" she asked.

The girl jumped, but Randy just smiled and patted her ass as she walked away. "I thought you'd be a little longer," he said as they both got into the car. An eery silence followed them for a few miles before he spoke again. "Look, about that," he started.

But Trish just turned the radio up. "No. You don't have to explain anything to me. You're not my boyfriend. You can do whatever you want."

The clipped tone of her words cut through him, but he refused to show the emotion. This was how he wanted it. This was how it had to be. Whether he liked it or not. "Right."


	3. Perfect Now

**A/N: To those of you who have already lost your minds over what's happening in this story, I'm sorry to burst your bubble, but this story is already outlined to the end - 12 chapters, just like the first, that are just waiting to be written, but have already been determined. I should have it finished in the next two to three weeks.**

**Also, there is a message on my profile page that I think you should all read at some point, when you get the chance. Thanks!**

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**Scar Tissue 2: Irreversible Damage**

_"Now I see, now I found, now I know what you're about. I keep out of reach. Won't let you pull me down."

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_

"Breakfast at 7:30?" Victoria asked, checking her watch as she stopped in front of her room for the evening.

Trish nodded and hitched her bag higher on her shoulder. Her legs were still feeling a little weak from her bout with Mickie at the evening's house show, and she was fighting to keep her eyes open. "Yeah, sure," she answered half-heartedly as she reached her own room.

Even when Randy wasn't with another woman, he usually spent a few hours after the shows in a bar with some of the other guys, or hanging out with friends who had come to visit. And on nights like this, Trish welcomed the thought of slipping into bed without a worry about when he would come home. Some days she craved his attention, but when just carrying herself to the room was a chore, she was grateful for the time alone.

Pushing the door open with her shoulder, she was surprised to hear the low rumble of the television. She was even more shocked to see Randy already stretched out on the bed in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs, flipping channels until something suited him.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, exhaustion dripping from her lips as she dropped her bag next to his in the entry.

Randy turned and offered her a small smile. Even worn out and beat to hell, she was exquisite. Sure, he thought a lot of women were hot, but she was a thing of beauty all to herself. "Hey, Beautiful," he smiled, motioning for her to join him on the bed.

His nearly-naked form was inviting, but Trish was really more enticed at the thought of dropping into the loving embrace of the pillow-top mattress below him. "I need a shower," she mumbled, running her fingers through her sweat-matted hair as she turned for the bathroom.

It only took a minute for the bathroom door to open again. When she appeared, her face was contorted in confusion. "Did you do this?"

Rolling off the bed, Randy walked to the bathroom and motioned for Trish to let him in. The tub was standard-sized, nothing fancy, but it was filled with warm, vanilla-scented bubbles. "I overheard Lita saying you took a rough bump tonight. I thought you might wanna soak that hip so you can actually walk in the morning."

Without arguement, she lifted her shirt over her head and then pushed her sweat pants over her hips. Randy unhooked her bra as she slid her panties to her ankles. Slipping into the bathtub, she sighed as the heat enveloped her. With her head resting against the wall, she opened an eye to find him leaning against the sink, arms folded with a satisfied smirk on his face.

Even in the flourescent lighting of the bathroom, he looked amazing. "If this is about the anal thing," she started.

Randy chuckled. She had ever right to assume that he wanted something. The only times he had ever been remotely romantic with her, it had been for the sole purpose of convincing her to do something sexually that she didn't want to do. But not this time.

"This is about you relaxing your muscles, Stratus," he assured her, pushing off the counter. At the door, he shot a look over his shoulder. "But if it makes you want to try anal," he started.

Raising an arm out of the water, Trish pointed to the door. "Get out, Orton," she instructed.

She soaked, and dozed toward sleep, until the water cooled and her skin was shrivelled. Later, she would think about how sweet this was, and she would probably over-analyze it until it drove her crazy, but for now she was just too tired.

By the time she exited the bathroom, draped in a fuzzy, terry cloth robe, all she could think about was sleep. If that meant that Randy rushed out to find someone else to keep his dick company for the night, so be it. She was too damn tired.

When she dropped the robe and climbed up onto the mattress, he was already asleep on top of the covers. Lying on his stomach, his face was turned toward her side of the bed, and Trish felt her breath catch in her throat. These were the moments that Lita was talking about - the ones that couldn't possibly make up for all of his indescretions. Except, at least for a few minutes, they did.

"Orton," she whispered, shaking his shoulder. He mumbled a good-night, but Trish nudged him again. "Orton, wake up."

He opened one eye and focused on her face. "What?"

"Get up," she instructed. He rolled over and slid his shorts over his hips. "No," she hissed. "I just wanna get under the covers."

Without a word, Randy slid over enough for Trish to pull the heavy comforter back. When she was situated, he rolled onto his side and ran a finger down the bare arm that was sticking out from her thick covering. "How was the bath?" he asked in a lazy whisper.

Trish curled her body toward him. "It was fabulous," she moaned, resting her head on his warm chest. "Thank you, Orton."

If he said he wasn't hoping to get anything more than a "thank you" out of the deal, he would be lying. He squirmed around on the bed until he wormed his way under the covers and then pulled Trish's naked form flush against his body. "Feelin' better?"

She nodded and pressed her lips to his chest. "Yeah," she answered, her hand trailing down his body. She was too tired for this, but she knew what he wanted, what he would expect. And for reasons she could not even explain to herself, she felt the need to give him something in return for the evening's wonderfully unexpected surprise.

Randy watched her eyes drifting shut as she wrapped her thin hand around his hardening shaft. "Trish," he whispered before he could stop himself. "You don't have to." The words surprised him, probably more than they did her. What shocked him even more was the fact that he meant them.

Turning her face toward him, Trish forced her hazel eyes open and met his crystal gaze with a smile. "Don't have to what?" she asked, her hand slowly sliding up and down.

Throwing his head back on the pillow, he couldn't respond. He had tried to be noble, but she wasn't making it easy. For once, he had actually tried to be chivalrous, to show her that she meant a little more to him than all the others. But fuck if even her hand didn't feel amazing wrapped around his cock.

As she slid under the covers and wrapped her lips around him, she pushed the emotions in her chest away. For a brief moment, she felt her defenses coming down, her heart warming toward him. And the way he was looking at her said that he was feeling it, too. They were dangerously close to having a "couple" moment, and that would be no good for either of them. _Keep it sexual, Stratus. It's best this way._

When his body tightened and she felt him ready to climax, she pulled back and watched his face. Contorted in painful pleasure, he let out a low groan before collapsing back against the pillows. He was absolutely gorgeous.

As he began to roll over, his hand finding her heated core, Trish squeezed her thighs together and rested her head on his chest. "Don't worry about me," she whispered into the stillness. "Just sleep."

It took her only a few seconds to find slumber land, but Randy was still staring at the ceiling hours later. He knew what she was doing when she said "no." She knew him well enough to know that, at that moment, he didn't just want to fuck her. He wanted to make love to her. And her defenses had gone up immediately.

The last thought he had before slipping into sleep was an oxymoron of disturbing comfort. He wanted to be inside Trish's defenses, whether there was sex inside those walls or not.

* * *

The ringing of a cell phone shocked them both from sleep the next morning. Shooting upright in bed, Trish looked at the alarm clock: 8:15. "Fuck!" she shouted, casting a glance to Randy who was now searching blindly for the offensive ring.

"Hello?" he answered the phone, unsure of who's it was.

"Who's this?" the voice demanded from the other side.

Randy pulled the phone away from his ear and handed it to Trish. "Yours," he grunted, falling back against the pillows.

Placing a hand over her heart to stop the rapid beating, she braced herself for Victoria's angry lecture. She was supposed to meet the girls for breakfast nearly an hour ago. "I'm so sorry," she said hastily.

"For what?" came the reply, a slight smirk attached.

Trish's heart jumped into her throat. "Carter?"

Pretending to be asleep, Randy felt his stomach lurch. Carter was Trish's ex, the one that she had nearly married before their "moment" in the gym seven months ago. He was the one she had been in love with for ten years prior to hooking up with Randy. Carter was the one who could ruin everything Randy had decided he wanted the night before.

"Sure, of course. . ." Trish was saying with a smile in her voice. "You sound great. . . I can't wait to see you, too." When she hung up, she tossed the phone onto the bed and rolled off the mattress. "Carter."

Randy opened his eyes and nodded. "Cool," he said, standing on his side of the bed. "What's up with him?"

Trish went to her suitcase and searched for something fitting to wear to her lunch date. "He's in town on business and wants to get together for lunch."

"I didn't know slackers did business trips," Randy smirked before he could stop himself.

Trish ignored the snide remark and went back to gathering her things for a shower. "He's working for that marketing firm in New York. He's actually out here doing some training. He really sounds like he maybe got his shit together," she rambled, heading for the bathroom.

"Well, that's great," Randy said, though his tone said it was the complete opposite of great.

"Orton," Trish took a deep breath and waited for him to look her way. When he didn't, she pushed the bathroom door open. "You don't care if I have lunch with him, do you?"

Randy just shrugged. "Why would I care?" When she had shut the bathroom door behind her, he threw a deoderant can across the room and watched it bounce off the wall. _Why the fuck should I care?_


	4. Shades of Blue

**Scar Tissue 2: Irreversible Damage**

_"With eyes wide open, the sky is always a thousand shade of blue."_

* * *

He had been signing autographs for more than two hours, and all Randy could think about was getting into the gym and lifting some of his aggression away. The little girls that tried to gain his attention all afternoon were getting on his nerves, and the distracted way that Torrie kept silencing her cell phone and leaving the stage to get more water made him want to scream. 

By the time Trish had gotten out of the shower that morning, he had convinced himself that it was a good thing she was going to see Carter. If she started dating Carter again, he could get rid of the damn guilt he felt every time he was done fucking his fling of the night. He could go back to the life he knew, the one he was comfortable with, instead of thinking about her all the damn time.

If only she hadn't looked so good when she left. Dressed in a white mini-skirt, a pink tee shirt, and some heels, she was a vision that he just couldn't get out of his head. The way her hips swung when she walked, the scent that lingered in the air even after he had finished with his own shower, and the look she had given him when she left were all haunting him now.

When the signing ended, Randy took off behind the curtain without a look back. He would grab a drink first, and then hit the weights. By the time the house show rolled around for the night, he would be good to go, game face intact. Trish would be an afterthought.

Hitching his bag over his shoulder, Randy checked his cell phone and then tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans. As he turned to leave, he bumped into Torrie, causing her to yelp. "Sorry," he mumbled as he began to walk around her.

"It's fine," Torrie excused, sniffling as she put her head down.

Randy grabbed her arm and turned her toward him. "What's wrong with you?"

She wiped her eye with a thin finger and shook her head. "Billy and I had a fight," she started and then turned her head to study his face. "Wait a minute -do you even care?"

Shaking his head, Randy twisted the bottle off his water and took a drink, his eyes sweeping over her centerfold figure. "Nope," he admitted, smiling when he met her eye again. "But I'd be happy to quietly stare at your tits while you unburden your soul."

Rolling her eyes, Torrie found herself fighting a grin. "Your sensitivity is overwhelming, Orton," she shot back, following him out of the comic book store they had been appearing in for the afternoon.

With a chuckle, Randy unlocked his SUV and motioned for her to get in. "I'm sorry," he feigned an apology. "Have I ever given you the impression that I give a damn? About anyone not named Randy Orton?"

"Trish," Torrie answered softly as he climbed into the driver's seat.

"What was that?" Randy asked sharply.

Torrie gave him big eyes and licked her lips. "What?" she asked innocently. "I didn't say anything."

Randy put the car in gear and shot her a look from the corner of his eye. "That look only works when you're on your knees, Sweetheart," he smiled.

"I heard she's with Carter this afternoon," Torrie prodded, turning her body toward Randy as he made his way through the parking lot.

"Not gonna talk about it, Torrie," he sighed, checking for traffic as he turned toward the exit that would lead them back to the highway.

Torrie moved closer, her hand on his leg. Her relationship was going to hell fast, and it appeared that Randy wasn't so thrilled with his, either. "Good," she whispered, wrapping her lips around his ear and then trailing them to his neck, her heavy breasts resting on his bicep. "Why don't you find a quiet spot where we can not talk about our problems for the next couple of hours?"

Randy felt his pants tightening as he searched the highway for something secluded. As Torrie continued kissing him, he felt the guilt twinge in his gut again. He wanted Trish, with her bronzed, toned body and her long, blonde locks. But as he eased the car into what appeared to be an abandoned parking lot, he shrugged the feelings off. Torrie might have been a broke-ass version of Trish, but she was close enough for now.

---

"I can't believe you're actually wearing a suit," Trish smiled as she ate her salad in the hotel bar. The man across the table was not the one she had walked away from seven months earlier. In fact, she was finding it hard to believe she had ever known this man at all.

Until he flashed her that thousand watt smile. "I've changed, Baby," he nodded, sipping from his water glass. "A lot."

Trish nodded in disbelief. She wondered if he was uncomfortable with the way she couldn't seem to find words for him. But he had gone from a worthless slacker who couldn't hold a job for more than a month, to a GQ cover model with goals and ambitions over night. Or at least it seemed that way to Trish.

"So tell me about this promotion," she said, leaning toward him slightly as he launched into an explanation of his career path.

"I started as an intern," he began, his eyes never leaving her face. "After about three months of fetching coffee for the design department, they sent me over ot reasearch. And this week, I am starting my training to become Lead Statistical Analyst with the firm," he concluded, his chest swelling with pride at his accomplishments. "They say I can transfer back to the Toronto branch as soon as my training is complete."

Trish dropped her fork onto her nearly-empty plate and sank back in her chair, shaking her head. "It's amazing," she sighed.

"I know, right? Who'da thunk Carter Shaefer would actually make something of his life."

She felt bad, in that moment, for ever doubting that he was serious about turning his life around. Sure, she'd had ten years of evidence to the contrary, but when Carter actually put his heart and mind into something, he usually succeeded. After all, he had been determined to get Trish way back in junior high, and he hadn't stopped until he had her.

"I always knew you had it in you," she said honestly, her eyes holding his in an intimate stare. He was, without a doubt, the one person on the planet that knew her better than any other. The sex might not have been as good with Carter as it was with Randy, but the connection was definitely much stronger.

Reaching across the table, Carter took Trish's hand in his own. "I've got everything you always wanted me to have, Trish," he started. "The only thing missing now. . . "

"Don't," she interrupted before he could say the words. "Not now, Carter," she begged.

But he went on anyway. "It's you, Trish. It's always been you. I mean, the career is nice - it makes me feel like I'm not a complete fuck up, and I enjoy the work. And actually being able to support myself without running to you for a hand out is a big boost to my masculinity," he smiled again, tightening his grip on her hand. "But it's not all of that I'm thinking about when I go to bed at night."

"Carter," Trish whispered, tears building in her eyes. When she finally accepted that he was gone, that she had pushed him away, and that he probably wouldn't be back, Trish had told herself that it was for the best. Even if he got his life together, they just weren't the people they had been - they would never be right for each other again.

When Randy looked at her, it was a lust-filled look that said he was going to take her home and turn her out until she forgot her own name. It made her heart pound in her throat and set her skin on fire. With one smirk, he could awaken every sense she forgot she possessed.

Carter didn't look at her that way. But Trish had forgotten that Carter had the one thing Randy didn't. The ability to make her feel like a princess again.

"Give me one good reason we can't be together, Trish," Carter prodded, running his thumb over the palm of her hand.

She fought like hell to think of one. Everything she had ever thrown at him was null and void now. She couldn't tell him he was ambitionless, with no future. She couldn't tell him that he was a mess, with no direction. And she couldn't tell him that he didn't care about her as much as he cared about himself. His touch said that every one of those excuses were in the distant past now.

"I'm seeing someone," she spouted without thinking. Even as the words came out, she couldn't believe them. Randy had offered her nothing - so why did she feel obligated to tell use him as a shield against the person who offered her everything she had ever wanted?

"Oh," he whispered, letting go of her hand and sinking back in disappointment.

Trish tried to help the situation by shaking her head and tapping her hand on the table. "It's not like I'm in love with him or anything. We're barely even dating, but," she stopped when she realized what she was saying.

"So you're turning me down for someone you have no real feelings for?" Carter asked, the pain evident in his voice.

Biting her lip, Trish stared at her plate. "It's not like that, Carter. It's complicated."

He pulled his wallet out of his pants. "Not that complicated, Trish. You did the same thing with me when we first started dating. You don't want to put yourself out there until you know he feels the same way, so you keep dancing around it and denying that you have feelings."

She swallowed hard and blinked back a tear. He really did know her better than Orton could ever claim to. For a brief moment, she remembered why she had almost agreed to marry him in the first place, why she had loved him so much for so long. "Carter," she started, standing when he did.

Taking her hand, Carter shook his head, a maturity in his gaze that still confounded her. "I don't know who this new guy is, Trish. I don't know shit one about him, and frankly, I don't fucking care to. But I know you. And I know you put all these walls up around your heart, just hoping that someone will break them down.

"I did that," he whispered, pulling her closer. "And I did some damage once I was inside. I get that now. It took me awhile to figure out what I had, and what I had lost, but I know now, Trish." Kissing her cheek, he ran a thumb over her bottom lip. "If you're ever ready to let me back in, give me a call, okay?"

When he was gone, Trish sank back into her chair and held her head in her hands. Carter had become everything she had always wanted him to be. He was the man she saw herself married to, living happily ever after. And he clearly wanted the same thing.

But the only person Trish could think of was Randy. And it was starting to piss her off.


	5. Crazy Beautiful

**Scar Tissue 2: Irreversible Damage**

_"Sometimes, something that is not perfect ends up being what you want."_

**

* * *

**

By the time Trish showered and dragged herself out of the bathroom, Randy was standing by the dresser, studying his appearance in the large hotel room mirror. They hadn't spoken since their afternoon outings, but both had taken every advantage to watch the other at the arena that evening.

"You had a good match tonight," Randy said as Trish flung herself onto the plush bed. He wasn't sure when they had started officially sharing a room, but somewhere along the way, it seemed silly to keep paying for separate ones when they always ended up together.

"Thanks," Trish mumbled, turning the television on and pulling her knees up to her chest. "Yours was good, too," she added distractedly, trying to focus on the television in front of her.

Randy glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and then went back to studying his hair. "Thanks," he answered, smiling to himself as he checked his watch. It was 9:45 on Wednesday night. Trish would be watching Inked on A&E.

With her eyes fixed to Carey Heart on the television, Trish pretended not to notice the perfect jeans Randy was wearing. "Hot date, Orton?" she asked flippantly.

He just nodded and squeezed some gel into the palm of his hand. "How was lunch?"

Trish shrugged and dropped the remote onto the bed beside her, feigning interest in the plot of the show she was supposed to be watching. "About like I expected," she said honestly. "He wants to get back together."

Randy felt his heart drop, but shrugged it off quickly. "You don't sound so into that idea," he said, praying that he sounded a lot less hopeful than he felt.

The words "_I'd rather be with you_" almost tumbled out of her mouth, but Trish stopped them before she could humiliate herself. "I think it's been too long," she lied, hoping he wouldn't press the issue.

"Really?" Randy asked, moving his fingers through his hair and meticulously shifting the strands until they were just as he wanted them.

With a sigh, Trish found herself talking about the afternoon. Though she couldn't honestly say that she and Randy were the best of friends, she found it easier than expected to unburden her soul to him. "He's everything I always wanted him to be," she said sadly, her eyes still trained on the television. "He's everything I have always wanted to marry," she sighed. "Have you ever seen Mindfreak?"

Her sudden change in topic surprised him, but Randy just nodded. "Is he on now?"

"Commercial," Trish nodded toward the television. "So Carter says I'm the only thing missing in his life now," she returned to her previous train of thought.

Randy could care less what Carter had said, but he wasn't about to let Trish know that. Jealousy was not his thing. If the girl he wanted was into someone else, let the other dude have her. There were plenty more for Randy to feast on. "And you're not going back to him why?" Before she could answer, he turned to face her. "Does my hair look gay?"

Trish finally tore her eyes from the tv and looked over at the man by the mirror. "Mess it up a little," she instructed. "It looks like you're trying too hard."

Randy rustled his fingers through his hair and then asked again. "Better?" Nodding, Trish sighed and fell over on the bed, still hugging her knees. "So, Carter," he reminded her of what they had been talking about, though he wasn't sure why he kept asking.

"I don't know," Trish answered honestly, emotionally exhausted and wishing Randy would just leave. "He says I build walls in the hopes that someone will come along and knock them down."

With a slight chuckle, Randy draped his white dress shirt over his broad shoulders and sank to the edge of the bed, bumping Trish's back side with his own in the process. "What the fuck does that mean?" he asked, buttoning his shirt as he searched the floor for his shoes.

"Who the fuck knows?" Trish sighed, rolling over and raising her legs until her feet rested on Randy's back. "I think it's just that I build these walls to protect myself, but what I really want is someone to want me bad enough to break them down."

Tying his shoe, Randy shook his head, trying to fight the feeling that even her feet evoked in him. "Or it just means that he's a manipulative shit head," he smirked.

Trish rolled her eyes and then focused on the ceiling. "Oh, YOU wanna talk about manipulative, Orton?" Nudging his shoulder with her toe, she said, "Your collar's stickin' up."

Randy quickly fixed his collar and stood, smiling at the little "oomph" Trish let out when her feet hit the mattress. "I have never manipulated anyone I care about," he insisted.

Sitting, Trish nodded. "Yeah, because you don't care about anybody." She wasn't trying to be snide, but for the first time since she had met Randy, she felt like they were having an honest conversation. Sure, he was running off to fuck someone else, and she was venting about her ex-boyfriend, but it was something other than sexual positions, so she would take it.

"Is that what you think?" Randy asked, stopping his preparations to stare at the tiny woman before him.

With a long, sweeping glance over his body, Trish stood and moved toward him, dropping to her knees at his feet. She pulled his pant leg from his sock and then rose to her full 5'4" with a seductive smile. The redness in Randy's cheeks said he was anticipating something else while she was down there. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?" she asked in a husky whisper.

Randy's hand moved of it's own accord, sweeping her hair from her neck as he bit his lip. "You think I'm manipulating you," he said, the timber of his own voice as soft as hers had been.

"I didn't say that."

"It's in your eyes," Randy said, studying her face with an intense scrutiny.

Trish shook her head slightly, hypnotized by his crystal stare. "You don't know me well enough to read my eyes, Orton."

The slightest hint of a smirk tickled the corner of his lips. "I know a lot of things about you, Stratus," he smiled, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. "I gotta go," he whispered, stepping away from her and turning for the door.

"Night," Trish whispered, falling back onto the bed.

She had done the right thing, turning away from Carter. She might not have been in love with Randy, but he was in her heart, and until she could figure out if she wanted him to stay there, she didn't need to be with anyone else.

Just as she was getting into the next show, Mindfreak, the door opened. "Forget something?" Trish asked as Randy moved toward the bed.

"Isn't he makin' an elephant disappear tonight?" he asked, kicking his shoes off.

"Looks like," Trish responded, nodding the preview of the evening's episode.

Randy sat on the bed and pushed Trish slightly. "Scoot over," he instructed, shedding his shirt before wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her back against the headboard with him.

"What about your hot date?" Trish asked, snuggling up to him. She could care less about whoever he was supposed to be with.

Giving her a quick kiss, Randy squeezed her shoulder slightly and ran his hand down her side, resting it on her waist. "I'm on it," he said, turning his attention back to the action on the screen.

"What?" Trish asked dumbly, turning her face toward his.

With a sigh, Randy looked toward the ceiling and then down at the woman in his arms. "Look, I'm not big on mind games, okay? Unless I'm the one playing them. And I don't know shit about this whole wall, defense analogy or whatever." Leveling Trish with an uncharacteristic look of compassion, he took a deep breath. "But I know that there is no one else I would rather spend extended periods of time with than you, Trish."

The words washed over her, but she wasn't about to give in so easily. "You sayin' you want me to be your girlfriend, Orton?"

He shook his head. "Not sure I'm there yet," he admitted. "But I'll tell you this, Trisha. I like you. And I look forward to waking up with you. And I like seeing you at work, or at home, or wherever. And if you tell anyone about this, I might just have to post naked pictures of you all over myspace."

Trish laughed and rolled her eyes. "Motherfucker, you don't even know what myspace is."

Sliding down on the bed, Randy pulled Trish onto his chest and kissed her softly. "I don't want you with Carter," he admitted finally.

"And I don't want you fucking half the roster," she retorted.

They slipped into a comfortable silence for a few minutes, Randy stroking Trish's hair as they marvelled at the illusions Criss Angel was performing on his show. "Trish?" She mumbled a response. "I'm not gonna promise you anything."

With a nod, she turned her face toward his chest and kissed his warm skin. "I don't want you to," she said honestly. "Just hold me for now. We'll figure the rest out as we go."


	6. Soundtrack to Your Life

**Scar Tissue 2: Irreversible Damage**

_"Beat up, broken, back for more, I'll be dragging my own ass off the floor. I throw myself right in it. What's the point if you don't live it?"

* * *

_

"So when are you getting here?" Randy asked into his cell phone as he stepped off the elevator and headed for the hotel bar.

"Why?" Trish asked on the other end of the phone, a slight smile in her voice. "Missin' me, Orton?"

Randy guffawed and shooked his head as he noticed a table of his co-workers waving to him in the back corner. "Nah. Just wanna make sure I don't have some other chick in my bed when you get here," he teased.

For more than a month, Randy hadn't entertained the thought of another woman in his bed. Since that night with Trish, he had given careful thought to where they stood, what kind of relationship they had. He was nowhere near ready to settle down with anyone, even Trish, but even he could admit that she was something special, something he didn't want to lose.

"I'm waiting for my luggage to drop, and if my ride is here, I should be back there in forty-five minutes, tops," Trish finished off her answer with a yawn. "I might not be much good to you tonight, though," she warned. "I'm wiped."

Randy nodded and offered a nod in greeting to his Raw teammates. "It's cool. We can make up for lost time in the morning."

"Sounds like a plan. Talk to you soon."

"See you soon," Randy smiled warmly as he flipped his phone shut and pushed it into his back pocket. "What's on tap?" he asked the men at the table before him.

John Cena shook his head and motioned for the waitress to bring Randy a beer. "Never thought I'd see the day, man," he chuckled.

"What?" Randy asked, his face twisted in confusion.

"The day Randy Orton settled down, man. You were our last hope," Charlie Haas laughed, patting his friend on the shoulder.

Randy chuckled and winked at the waitress as she presented his drink. "Thank you, Sweetheart," he said, lifting it to his lips before turning back to his friends. "I think you're all drunk," he added.

"Oh, so you're not as pussy-whipped as the rest of us now?" Johnny Nitro asked, tipping his own bottle to his lips. "That wasn't your girlfriend you were just all "I can't wait to see you" with a second ago?"

Since the day the rumors had started, Randy had taken shit from the guys about his relationship with Trish. Even before they were anything, when they were just fucking, the guys had loved to rib him about how he was so "into" Trish. Now that they were kind of a couple, things were ten times worse.

"I'm not pussy-whipped," he insisted as the other three gave sarcastic nods. "I'm not! I'm the same guy I've always been."

"Nah, man," John shook his head and sat his beer on the table. "The guy you've always been would have had that waitress in his room by now," he pointed to the young woman still staring at Randy from behind the bar. "Or at least a few of those ring rats over there," he pointed over Randy's shoulder.

Without a look back, Randy rolled his eyes and tipped the bottle to his lips. "Uh uh," he argued. "That's bull shit. I don't come in here and give you shit for all those goddamned ultrasound pictures you made us look at," he pointed to Charlie. "And I don't say shit one about the fact that you're practically led to the ring on a leash by your girlfriend," he said to Johnny. "Don't even get me started on you, Mr. Maria-Says," he spat at John.

Though none of the guys could disagree with Randy's observations of their actions, they all knew it wasn't the same.

With a hand on the younger man's shoulder, Charlie chuckled to himself and shared a knowing look with Johnny. "Dude," he said, turning his attention to Randy. "Because it's not completely out of character for us. I'm crazy about my wife, and ecstatic to be havin' a kid - I don't fuckin' care who knows that shit." He pointed with his bottle across the table. "Our boy Nitro here has been on a short leash since he got to the big leagues - he doesn't take a piss without Melina scheduling it for him, and he makes no apologies for that."

"Hey!" Johnny interjected. "I'm not THAT bad." He looked around the bar and then back at the guys. "Melina's not even here right now."

Charlie just laughed and continued with his thought. "And our boy Cena's been chasing Maria's ass around since the day he moved over to Raw. The point, grasshopper," he pressed his pointed finger to Randy's chest and then retracted it, "Is that you are the "unconquerable" Randy Orton. You're the one who's walked around for years talking about how you're gonna fuck all the divas, never fuck the same bitch twice, never commit to anyone, blah, blah, blah."

"And now you've fallen," John concluded with a laugh.

Johnny shrugged and took a swig of his beer. "Gotta say, though, man, if you're gonna fall anywhere, there are worse places than on top of Trish Stratus."

All four men nodded at the truth of those words, until Randy jumped in to defend himself. "It's not even anything serious, guys," he insisted. "So I like hangin' out with her? So she's been up in my head since the day I met her. So she's harder to get rid of than a serious case of herpes."

John, Charlie, and Johnny all choked on their beers. "Dude," John wiped his mouth and made a disgusted face.

"The point is that I'm still the same guy I've always been - I'm still doin' whatever the hell I wanna do. Women still fall all over me, and I can still have my pick of any of them that I want," he insisted. "I just happen to not want any of them at the moment."

"That's great, man," Johnny said, placing a hand on Randy's shoulder at the exact moment Charlie mimed a whip and John made a cracking sound. "That's just great."

As the guys changed the subject, Randy tried to shrug off their words. They were only kidding with him. He knew that. But he also knew that they were right. Trish was getting to him in a way that no other women had been able to do. And he still wasn't sure he liked being tamed.

Charlie left after a few minutes, saying that he needed to call his wife and check in before bed. Johnny got a call from Melina shortly thereafter and took off like a bullet. When the bartender signalled "last call," Randy and John headed for the elevator.

"Well, lookie there," John nodded toward the door.

Randy turned and smiled in spite of himself as Trish pushed throught the revolving door and made her way to the check-in counter. "Catch you later, man," he said hurridly.

"Um, it should be under Stratus," Trish was saying to the night clerk who couldn't seem to find her reservation.

"Actually, it's under Orton," Randy smiled as he wrapped his arms around Trish's waist. "And you're already checked in."

Turning in his arms, Trish accepted Randy's kiss and then motioned for him to help her with her luggage. "I really didn't expect you to be waiting for me in the lobby," she laughed as they stepped into the elevator.

"John and I were just leaving the bar," Randy explained, leaning his head against the wall to watch the numbers climb. "How was the flight?"

Trish nodded slightly. "Alright," she answered as the doors opened. "What room is it?"

Randy led her to the end of the hall and pushed the door open with his shoulder. "Home sweet home," he announced.

The room looked like any other hotel room in any other city. But it had a bed, and that's all that Trish was worried about. "I'm not even taking a shower," she mumbled, dropping her bags and walking toward the mattress that was screaming her name. "If I stink, you can sleep on the couch."

He smiled as she dropped onto the bed. "You wanna at least change clothes first?"

As though the thought hadn't even occured to her, Trish sat up and looked herself over. "That might be good."

Randy watched as she stripped down to her bra and panties and then fell onto the bed again. Once Trish was snuggled between the covers, he took his own clothes off and slipped in beside her, wrapping his arm around her until she rested her head on his chest. It was the same position they had slept in for nearly eight months, and one that he was more comfortable with than he liked to admit.

"Do you need me to set the alarm?" he whispered into the darkness.

Trish mumbled against his skin. "I have a meeting at 9:00," she answered. "Wake me up at 7:30."

Randy set the alarm and then rested his head against the pillows. "Meeting for what?" he asked softly.

"My contract's up in a couple months."

Contract signings were one of the most routine and, in Randy's opinion, irritating parts of the wrestling business. He had sat through his fair share of negotiations, and he just hoped that Vince wouldn't make Trish jump through the same hoops he'd had to jump through the last time. "You think they'll give you a raise this year?"

Trish sighed, turning her face toward his. "If I re-sign," she answered.

"If?" Randy laughed and kissed the top of her head. "What do you mean, if?" His only response was Trish's steady breathing as she drifted off to sleep. _If?_


	7. Let U Go

**A/N: I'm going to be brutally honest with y'all for a minute - I almost pulled this story today. I've been told that sometimes I'm just too nice for my own good, and I've always known that, on some level. Today, I realized it with undeniable clarity. So this may come out as bitchy, but right now I just don't care.**

**I have always posted my stories in the hopes that you will find some shred of entertainment, and maybe an emotional connection, in them. But ultimately, they are MY stories. I truly believe that writing is best when it is personal, when the author has thrown mass amounts of themselves, and their own experiences, into the plot, characters, and tone. Demanding that my work take a turn that suits your fancy is not only immature, but it also tells me that my thoughts, feelings, and inspirations are not good enough. **

**Reviews and criticisms are welcome - I will never shun anything that makes me a better writer. If something doesn't make sense or could be improved, let me know - that's awesome. Most of the time, I love hearing from you guys - and you know that this doesn't pertain to 90 percent of you. But if it's simply a matter of creating a story that you would rather read, please feel free to write your own. I'll be happy to read and review it for you.

* * *

**

**Scar Tissue 2: Irreversible Damage**

_"You're the one mistake I really didn't mind. So beautiful, unmerciful, it took me down. . . Know I don't wanna, but I gotta let you go. . . Sleepless nights. Wrong or Right. Good bye. . . It's you. There's nothing I can do."

* * *

_

Though the alarm wasn't set to go off until 7:30, Trish awoke at at 6:00, her mind filled with confusion. Was she really ready to let go of the life she had embraced for more than five years? Was she ready to walk away and start a new career after Vince and Co. had been so good to her? Would her fans ever understand how long and hard she had thought about this decision? If she ever decided to come back, would they still be waiting for her?

Rolling out of bed, she walked to the window and stared at the city below. It was the hardest decision of her life, and if she was really honest, she knew it wasn't really hers to make. Ultimately, she would decide whether or not to sign on the dotted line, of course. But in the end, it was the man asleep in her bed who would make the choice.

"What are you doing?" Randy asked into the darkness. His mind had been churning for hours with the possibilities of Trish's "if" statement the night before.

"Thinking," Trish answered honestly.

"About?"

With a sigh, she walked to the side of the bed and turned on the light. "Everything," she said, leaning against the headboard.

Randy struggled to sit, wiping his eyes against the sudden shock of the light. "You wanna talk about it?"

She shook her head. She wanted it to be easy. She didn't want to have a long, drawn out talk about everything. "What are we doing?" she asked suddenly.

"Um?" Randy looked at her curiously, shrugging his shoulders.

"You and me, Orton," Trish clarified, looking at her twisted hands in her lap. "What are we doing together? Where are we going?"

His defenses shot up as Randy hugged a pillow to his chest and averted his eyes. "I thought we were hanging out."

"Is that all?" she sighed and stood again, pacing beside the bed. "We're just biding our time, hangin' out to see if something better comes along?"

Lifting his cell phone from the bedside table, Randy checked the time. "You wanna have this conversation at six in the morning?"

"No," Trish said honestly. "I don't want to have this conversation at all. But since I have a meeting in about three hours that will decide the fate of my future forever, I guess this is as good a time as any." Stopping, she put her hands on her hips and swallowed her nerves. "I like you, okay? Sometimes I don't know why, usually I can't explain it, but I know it's more than sex. I know that you make me laugh, and I like knowing that you're coming back to me at the end of the night, no matter what. The last month or so has been great, and we have fun. But is that all it's ever going to be?"

Straightening his posture, Randy shrugged. "I thought we were just going to take this one day at a time. I thought that we didn't have to figure out the future right now," he said, his brow knitted in confusion.

Trish sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "Back when I was with Carter, all I wanted was for him to grow up and be an adult. I wanted him to tell me that he wanted to be with me, and even if getting there was hard, he was willing to do whatever it took to make us work." She shook her head. "We broke up because he couldn't give me that.

"And then you came along. And I let myself believe that I didn't want all that love and bull shit. It just hurt too much and I was over it." Sinking to the chair across from the bed, she dropped her head in her hands and took a moment to collect herself.

Randy watched her shoulders rise and fall with her collecting breaths. When she looked at him again, her face was red and her expression was blank. "So what are you saying? You want Carter back?" Maybe he was still tired, but she was confusing the hell out of him.

Shaking her head, Trish leaned back in the chair. "No," she insisted. "There are about a million things I want to do in this life, Randy. I want to act, maybe sing. I want to do a lot of things outside the wrestling world. I want to try my hand at other things. But more than anything, and as weak as I'm sure it sounds to you, I want to fall in love.

"I've run from it, and I've denied it, and I've tried to pretend that it doesn't exist, but in the end? It's all I've ever really wanted. The job is great, and I have loved every second of my wrestling career. But I want to be a wife, and a mother. I want to have the life I dreamed of as a little girl." Standing, she moved to the bed and knelt beside him. "I'm not saying I'm in love with you, or that I want to get married next month. I just want to know if we're wasting our time?"

He stared at the wall for a long moment and then met her eyes with a grim expression. "I don't know."

Though she wanted to cry, Trish fought the emotions rushing over her. Her answer was clear, her decision was made. "I'm not signing a new contract," she whispered.

Without warning, Randy stood from the bed and threw his arms into the air. "Why? Because I don't know if we're going to get married and have ten babies someday? Fuckin' A, Trish! That's the most asinine thing I've ever heard," he erupted angrily.

His outburst shocked her at first, but Trish stood on the opposite side of the bed and narrowed her eyes at him. "Tell me I'm more than the best lay you've ever had. Tell me that if I walk away from you, it will tear your world apart."

He wanted to. For once, Randy wished that he was an accomplished liar. But the simple truth was that he really didn't know. "I like you, Trish. And I like the pace we're moving at right now. But I'm not gonna tell you that my world will end if you're not in it."

Later, if she thought back on the moment, she might appreciate his honesty. At the moment, she couldn't contain the tears from streaming down her face. "Then I guess this is it for us."

Without thinking, Randy blurted out the first thing that popped into his head. "We don't have to just stop, ya know?" He moved back to the bed and reached for her arm. "We could still hook up on my off-days."

But Trish pulled her arm away and backed off the bed. "Why?" she asked sadly, reaching into her suitcase and gathering her items for the shower. "What's the point in that, Orton?"

"This is so fucked up," he sighed, his mind immediately fluttering to something Mickie had said a few months earlier. _What are you going to do when you can't lie anymore? _"I don't want you to go."

She moved toward the bathroom and then turned back. "Give me a reason to stay," she whispered, shutting the door behind her.

Laying back on the bed, Randy ran his hands over his face. There were moments when he thought they had a fighting chance. There were times when he wanted, more than anything, to give her everything that she needed in life. Sometimes he wanted to be the guy that she wanted, and needed, him to be. But he was still young, there was life he was convinced he hadn't lived yet. There was still a huge part of him that believed he would break her heart. Maybe it was better that he just did it now.

As Randy showered, Trish prepared for her meeting. She was done with wrestling. She had known for awhile that the only thing keeping her around was him. And it wasn't enough. Randy Orton was not reason enough for her to stay.

She was just finishing her hair when he stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped only in a towel. The view she caught from the mirror nearly took her breath away, but she just moved to the other side of the bed and slid into her dress. It was better this way.

Randy dressed in warm up pants and a tee shirt, preparing himself for his morning work out with the guys. This was his last chance, and he knew it as he watched her walk toward the door with her suitcase. If he let her walk out the door, anything they could have had would be over.

"Trish," he called, stopping her just before she shut the door. Moving slowly, he placed his hands on both sides of her face and rubbed her cheek with his thumb.

"Randy," she breathed, a flutter of hope rising in her chest as he lowered his face toward hers.

With a tender kiss on her lips, he pulled back and smiled. "Good luck."

Trish didn't even try to fight the tear that made it's way down her cheek as he kissed her forehead and then shut the door. If she wasn't mistaken, there were a few tears pooling in his crystal orbs, too. With one last glance at the door, she gripped her suitcase tightly. "Good bye, Orton."


	8. Along the Way

**Scar Tissue 2: Irreversible Damage**

_"It's who I am. It's how you'll be. It's where we run. Letting go of everything is the hardest part when you start along the way."

* * *

_

_I know I was supposed to turn left off of Lakeshore_, Trish thought as she looked around the foreign streets of downtown Chicago. _Now, I know the hotel isn't in the lake, so that turn was right_. She cast another glance over her shoulder and then pulled her phone out of her bag and quickly dialed her agent.

The last two months of her career had been draining, to say the least. In the ring, on television, and at appearances, she was the same Trish everyone had always known and loved. She wouldn't let her performance drop just because she was on her way out. She hadn't become the Woman's Champion six times by phoning it in.

Professionally, she was as good as she had ever been. Personally, she was a text book example of "going through the motions." While she spent time with the Divas, most of her energy was spent on convincing herself that Randy didn't look as good as he used to, that he wasn't as magnetic as she had once thought.

As soon as her contract was up, she had set out to fulfill the first item on her "Goals After Wrestling" list. The Second City was one of the world's premier improv and comedic acting troups, and learning from them had always been a dream of hers. Though they had a training facility in her hometown of Toronto, Trish wasn't ready to go back yet. Not since her mother informed her that Carter had moved back into town.

So she headed to Chicago and started the three month Intro to Improv program. All was going well, except for the fact that she was now standing in downtown Chicago with nothing resembling a clue as to where her hotel was.

Flipping her phone open, Trish moved her thumb over the "3" on her speed dial, intent on asking her agent just where she was supposed to be staying, and how the hell she was supposed to get there, when the ringing startled her.

"Hello," she answered sweetly, walking in the direction she thought looked familiar.

"Well, lookie who decided to answer her phone!"

The exuberant voice of Ashley Massaro on the other end of her phone made Trish smile. "What's up, Kiddo?"

"Same shit, different day," Ashley sighed. "What about you?"

Shrugging, Trish thought about how good it was to hear her young friend's voice. Until that moment, she hadn't realized how much she was missing the girls. "Just finished up a class with The Second City."

"Oh yeah? Sounds like fun." There was a slight rustle as Ashley settled onto a chair in the backstage area of the arena Smackdown was calling home for the evening. "Is it totally sappy to say that I miss you, Stratus?"

With a small smile, Trish shook her head. "Of course not. I miss you, too, A. Mass."

Rolling her eyes at the nickname, Ashley tucked her hair behind her ears and looked up and down the hall. "So where are you?"

"The middle of fucking nowhere," Trish looked around in confusion at the skyscrapers stretching high above her head. "Otherwise known as Chicago."

"I love Chicago," Ashley protested. After a few minutes of mindless chatter, she took a deep breath and addressed the issue she knew they were both avoiding. "Everybody's missing you like crazy."

"Ashley," Trish warned, knowing exactly where she was going with the statement.

"He does, Trish. He may not say it. And he tries not to show it. But it's so obvious," Ashley informed.

"To you? To the other bitches he's fucking around with?" Sighing, Trish shook her head and turned down a new street, a sense of relief filling her chest when she laid eyes on her hotel. "Look, it's okay that he's not thinking about me, Ash. Trust me, it's fine."

"Do you miss him?" Her voice was small and child-like.

Slowing her pace, Trish hitched her bag higher on her shoulder. "Honestly?" She hooked a left into a Starbucks and looked around the empty exterior. "Every day." Lowering herself to a chair in the corner, she rested her head in her hands. "I see him everywhere. At night, when it's quiet, I hear his voice in my ear. I get a whiff of some random guy on the street, and I can smell his skin like he was laying on top of me again." She blinked back the tears that assaulted her eyes without warning.

"Call him," Ashley advised.

Shaking her head, Trish sniffled and wiped her eyes. "Um, no," she responded firmly. "I'll get over it. It's just gonna take more than a week or two. But I'll get there," she insisted. "Orton and I were nothing but self-destructive from the beginning. We were never meant to last."

The younger woman laughed cynically. "I don't buy that for a second."

Trish stood and took her wallet out of her purse, approaching the counter to order a comfort Frappuccino. "You don't have to," she answered finally. _As long as I buy it, that's all that matters_. "I gotta get goin', Ash. I'll call you later this week, okay?"

Ashley said a hurried good-bye and Trish returned her phone to her bag before placing her order. She knew she wasn't over Randy yet, but she also knew that she did the right thing in ending whatever charade their psuedo-relationship had been. It had been a long time since she had been alone, not worrying about anyone but herself.

Accepting her drink from the clerk, Trish stepped back into the windy Chicago afternoon_. Until I'm okay with me again, I don't need anyone else in my life anyway._


	9. Where Did You Go

**A/N: Thanks for your support guys - I'm glad to know you're still enjoying the story.**

**XXX**

**Scar Tissue 2: Irreversible Damage**

_"I wish I could go back and be with you again, cause there's so many things I should have said when I had you listening. As close as we were then, as far as we are now, as much as this won't change a thing, you've got me calling out."_

XXX

"Sup, Punk?"

He thought he had found a secluded place at the back of the arena, but apparently Randy had been wrong. "What do you want?"

"And a fine, sunshiney hello to you, too," Lita smirked, lowering herself to the ground beside the grouchy looking Legend Killer. "So what's with the little pity party?"

Setting his jaw, Randy turned to glare at the woman beside him. "What makes you think I wanna talk to you?"

With a shrug, she pulled her knees up and rested her folded hands on them. "What makes you think I give a fuck what you want?"

It wasn't bad enough that all the guys kept asking him how he felt about Trish being gone. Now her friends had to get in on the game, too? "I'm not talking about her," he warned.

"Not askin' you to," Lita informed. "Although, kinda find it ironic that she's the first place you go when you don't wanna talk about her." She received a glare in response. "What? Dude, I sat down - you're the one who went all "Trish" on me."

"I didn't go all "Trish." What does that even mean?" he asked, some irritation in his voice.

Resting her head against the wall, Lita stared at her fingers. "How long you known me, Orton?" He shrugged. "You think you're so hard to figure out. Nobody knows Randy Orton. Bull shit. It's all bull shit," she told him.

With a sigh, he leaned back and relaxed his shoulders. He didn't want to talk about Trish. It was bad enough he had to think about her all the time, wondering where she was and what she was doing. Wondering if she was with anyone new, or old. If they would just stop asking, maybe he could stop torturing himself with the thoughts.

"She's headed back to Toronto," Lita said when it became clear that Randy wasn't going to ask the question. "She just finished up training with Second City and now she's gonna feel out a few auditions and take a few meetings. You'll be seein' her on the big screen by next year, no doubt."

Randy nodded slowly. To say that he was proud of Trish was an understatement, not that he would admit it. "Good for her," he managed to mumble, running his fingers over the speckled pattern on the tile beneath him.

"Why are you so fucking retarded?" Lita asked finally, her impatience getting the better of her.

Rolling his eyes, Randy felt his defenses strengthening. "I don't know. Why are you such a bitch?"

"Can you just stop acting like a spoiled child for thirty second and try being honest?" Though she knew the chances of getting him to open up were slim to none, she wasn't about to coddle and baby him. Trish did enough of that over the last year, and frankly, she find it a little disgusting.

"What the fuck do you want me to say?" Randy asked finally, his voice low but his eyes glaringly harsh. "It doesn't fucking matter what I think, does it? What I feel? It's done," he shrugged and stood, his hands on his hips. "She left me."

For a split second, she started to feel sorry for him, but as quickly as the feeling came over her, it passed. He was the king of manipulation. She wasn't the first person he had tried to guilt into seeing things his way, but she wasn't about to be the next in line to fall for his bull shit. "Get over yourself."

"Excuse me?"

Standing, Lita brushed her pants off and stood toe-to-toe with him. "Get over yourself, Orton. Yeah, Trish left, but you let her go. She was standing right in front of you, begging you to make her stay, and you didn't." Throwing her arms up, the red head finally surrendered. "I don't know, man. Maybe we've all been imagining it. Maybe you don't really have feelings for her, or anyone. Maybe you really are a heartless bastard," she sighed and shook her head. "If that's the case, she's better off without you anyway."

She began to walk away as Randy leaned his forehead against the wall in front of him. He did have feelings - a lot of them. Feelings he hadn't experienced in years. Trish brought something out in him that he didn't even recognize at first. Of course, admitting that would damage the image he had worked so hard to build for himself, and it would leave him vulnerable. And he had never really been interested in being vulnerable before Trish.

"Lita," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. When he locked eyes with her, he turned and leaned his back against the wall, crossing his arms and shrugging his shoulders, as if to say he couldn't, or wouldn't, fight anymore. "I miss her."


	10. All That She Wanted

**Scar Tissue 2: Irreversible Damage**

_"At the window sill, she's looking out. Strawberry daffodils. Butterflies and broken roller skates. The colors bleed like finger paint. . . All that she wanted is to be wanted."_

_---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

_Desire: The single driving force of every human being on the planet, whether they readily admit it or not. The desire to achieve, to become, to attain, is what gets us out of bed in the morning. When we cease to want anything, life becomes pointless and all together hopeless._

_Even more important, I think, is the need to be desired. Completely. Fully. To know that someone out there is thinking about us, caring about us, wanting us._

_Being a Diva was the ultimate consummation of both needs for me. The desire to obtain that belt just one more time kept me from quitting on more than one occasion. The desire to make a mark, the become the greatest Woman's Champion in the history of the company, dragged my ass off the mat when my body wanted to give up and die._

_And I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that when I walked through the curtain, there would be screams. When I showed up at appearances, people would be there to see me. When I walked into the arena, or just around the streets of a town we were performing in, people would stop me for pictures and autographs. I never doubted that I was wanted._

Without really finishing her thought, Trish shut her journal and looked at the clock beside her bed. It was only 10:00 and she had nothing on her agenda for the following day. Since it seemed silly to go to sleep so early, she grabbed her keys from the dresser and headed out to the car.

Not for the first time, she wondered if she had made the right decision in retiring. It had been nearly three months since she walked away from wrestling, and at first, it had seemed like a great idea. There were other avenues she wanted to explore, other ventures, and she just couldn't try when she was still with WWE.

But the offers weren't pouring in like she thought they would. She had done a few stints on a Toronto sketch show since returning home, and written an article for a local women's magazine. There had been a few photo shoots, too, but it wasn't what she had expected. They just didn't want her like the wrestling fans had wanted her.

And then there was Randy. Though she knew she made the right decision in ending things with him, she couldn't deny that she was missing what he had given her when they had been together. That sense of urgency, the feeling that he would die if he didn't have her right then and there, was seriously lacking from her life now. And while she knew it wasn't enough of a reason to continue the relationship, she missed the feeling.

Easing her car into a spot in front of her favorite bar, she checked her appearance and headed inside.

She had been sitting at the bar for about ten minutes when someone sat beside her on the stool. "Can I buy you a drink?" he asked in a low voice that made her insides jump.

Turning, she smiled. "Carter," she nodded. "Sure. That would be great."

Her mother had told her repeatedly that he was back in town, that she should look him up. Christmas was coming, and it just wouldn't be the same if Carter wasn't there - at least as her friend. If there was one thing her mother had made crystal clear, it was that Carter was part of the family, whether he and Trish would together or not.

"So what brings you to this shit hole on a Thursday night?" Carter asked easily, leaning his elbows on the bar as he probed her face with his eyes. "Shouldn't you be getting your beauty rest?"

Rolling her eyes, she nudged him with her shoulder. "No work tomorrow." Thanking the bartender with a nod, she sipped at her drink. "Things aren't exactly going as planned since I got back," she disclosed glumly.

As if on instinct, Carter reached behind Trish and ran a warm hand up and down her back. "Buck up, Stratus," he said, reminding her instantly of the days when they were dating. "If it doesn't kill you. . . "

"It'll hurt like hell?" she finished for him, smiling as the corners of his lips turned up knowingly. "Let's talk about something happier. What are you doing for the holidays?"

Shrugging, Carter continued to stare into her eyes. "Not sure yet," he answered. "I thought about heading back to New York, but then my mother threatened to castrate me," he smiled. "And your mother offered to loan her a very dull knife for the job, so I guess I'm sticking around."

Because their families had always been close, Trish and Carter had been thrust together at a young age. The fact that they had dated for nearly ten years had pleased their mothers to no end. There were times when Trish thought that their break up was harder on her parents than it was on her.

"You should come over for dinner on Christmas Eve," she said without thinking.

As they slipped into casual conversation about their lives, Trish found her thoughts drifting. Not only had she ended her relationship with Carter, but she had also denied his plea to reconcile on more than one occasion. There was no reason that she should feel comfortable sitting next to him in a bar, sharing drinks and laughs.

But he was Carter. He was her past - everything familiar about her childhood, and most of her adulthood, beamed back at her from his dark eyes. But that wasn't all that emenated from his gaze. Along with the history of a lifetime, she could see it clearly, as though he were inviting her into his deepest thoughts.

"So what about your boyfriend?" Carter asked suddenly, looking as surprised by the question as Trish did. "I mean, that guy you were seeing or whatever?"

"Randy?" Trish shook her head and took another long drink from the beer bottle in her hands. "Didn't really work out."

"Why?"

Turning on her stool, Trish tilted her head and considered him. "We just wanted different things, I guess."

With a hand on her knee, Carter looked at her with intensity. "And what do you want, Trisha?"

Sliding off the stool, she offered her hand to Carter and waited for him to lay down a few bills for their tab. There was a slight twinge of guilt in her gut as he kissed her cheek and told her he would meet her at her house. It wasn't right - she didn't love him anymore. If he stayed the night, it would only be to fulfill a need in her heart that no one had filled since Randy.

Tonight, she just wanted to be wanted. And even if he couldn't give her the fairy tale life she had always dreamed of, Carter could at least give her that much.


	11. Apology

**Scar Tissue 2: Irreversible Damage**

_"What went wrong with you and me? This is my apology. Cause even when I fall asleep, you stay with me. You stay with me."_

XXXXX

"Trish, Sweetie, can you get the extra plastic cups out of my trunk?"

Nodding, Trish grabbed her father's keys off the living room mantle and tightened her arms around herself to shield against the harsh, Toronto December. The heavy sweater that enveloped her was cozy as she inhaled the fresh air and leaned against the porch railing, turning her face to the star-filled sky. She loved her family, but sometimes there was such a thing as too much togetherness.

"Hey," Carter's voice sounded behind her just before the door clicked shut. "You okay?"

Trish rested her head on his shoulder as he leaned his elbows on the railing beside her. "It's been a hell of a year, Carter," she sighed.

"Yeah, it has," he agreed, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her close to his chest. "Maybe this year will be better."

When he kissed the side of her head, Trish allowed her eyes to drift shut. Last year's Christmas had brought the break up of their relationship. And now she was standing next to him once more, not as his girlfriend, but as a casual friend who sometimes slept over. Though she knew he wanted more, the fact that he seemed willing to wait for her to make up her mind made him that much more attractive in Trish's mind.

They stood together, enjoying the silence of the evening as their parents' laughter could be heard inside the house. Though she hated to admit it, this felt right. It felt like home. It was everything she had ever known, and everything she had forgotten when she was caught up in the whirlwind that was Randy Orton.

After a few moments, footsteps were heard outside the house. "What is that?" Carter asked as a group approached the couple and stood on the walkway.

In unison, the group began to sing a traditional Christmas carol. "I didn't know people caroled anymore," Trish whispered to Carter, who only kissed her temple in response and turned his attention to the group serenading them.

A few adults stood in the back of the group, while several children sang loudly in the front. A little girl with blond pigtails stood near a dark-haired boy with shining blue eyes. While the boy seemed less-than-interested in the girl's affection, she was undeterred in her pursuit to make him notice her. That alone was enough to bring a smile to Trish's face.

They sang two songs and then smiled as Carter and Trish applauded. "That was beautiful," Trish gushed. "Do you guys want some hot cocoa or something?"

The man who appeared to be their leader shook his head. "No, thank you, ma'am. We've got a lot more houses to visit before the night's over," he declined. "You folks have a good evening, though."

Carter moved from the porch to shake his hand as the group began to walk to the next house. Trish was watching them when the dark-haired boy turned back and looked at her curiously. "Hey, Sweetie," she smiled, stepping off the porch.

"Are you Trish Stratus?" he asked, his hands behind his back as they had been during both songs.

"Yes, I am," she nodded. "Are you a fan?" she asked, lowering herself to the steps to be closer to his level.

"Of what?" the boy asked, completely oblivious to who this woman was, or why he should know her.

"Nevermind," Trish stammered, fighting the blush creeping into her cheeks.

Shaking his head, the boy withdrew a red rose from behind his back and held it out in front of him. "This is for you," he said. When Trish gave him a confused look, he shrugged. "Some guy told me to give it you."

"What guy?" Trish asked, looking toward the group of carolers as Carter returned to her side, a look of bewilderment on his face as he focused on the rose in her hand.

The little boy opened his mouth, but was interrupted before he could answer. "DEVIN, COME ON!" The little girl in pigtails shouted to her boyfriend, who just waved slightly and ran off.

With a smirk, Carter extended a hand to Trish and watched as she lifted the rose to her nose. "So who's the secret admirer?" he asked.

Trish began to tell him that she didn't know when something caught her attention from the corner of her eye. "Oh god," she whispered.

"Hey," Randy waved sheepishly, his hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his worn jeans. With a black skull cap pulled low over his head, his blue eyes shone through the darkness of the night.

"What are you doing here?" Carter demanded, sensing Trish's discomfort at the presence of her ex-boyfriend.

Ignoring Carter completely, Randy moved closer, his eyes holding Trish's steady. "Can we talk?"

Turning to Carter, she put a hand on his stomach. "Give me a minute?"

"You sure?"

She nodded and then looked back at Randy, who was now standing at the bottom of the porch stairs. "You look good," he finally said after dragging his eyes over her.

Blushing slightly, Trish motioned for him to join her on the porch. "Thanks," she whispered, sinking onto the wicker couch her mother had placed there the summer before. "So do you." When Randy sat and said nothing, she turned toward him. "So what? You just stopped by for some egg nog? Come to help me trim the tree?"

Randy's eyebrow shot up instinctively as he gave Trish a smirk. It seemed to break the tension as she returned the gesture with a smile of her own. "I brought you a present," he said, pulling an envelope out of his back pocket.

She took it hesitantly and raised an eyebrow of her own. "If this is nothing," she started, but Randy shook his head. Trish opened the envelope and pulled a few pieces of paper out of it. "What is this?"

With wide eyes, Randy threw his hands up. "Jesus Christ, woman!" he exclaimed. "Do I have to do everything for you?" Taking the papers from her hand, he showed her the first. "This is a ticket to the Royal Rumble," he explained. "And this is all of your flight and hotel information for that weekend."

Was he really going to ride into town, give her a ticket to an event she didn't really need a ticket to attend, and expect that everything was going to be all better? "What the fuck is all this?" Tucking her hair behind her ears, she laid the envelope back in his lap. "I know you're not that hard up for pussy."

Shaking his head, Randy shrugged. "I'm not," he admitted. He turned toward her and put a hand on her knee, "I'm inviting you to the Rumble because I'm going to win the title back that night. And the only person that I really want to share that with is you."

He spoke so softly, and so quickly, that she almost didn't hear him. "What?"

Randy grew frustrated. Once again, he found himself needing to tell her something, and not having the first inkling of an idea as to how to say it. "Look, Trish," he sighed. "I don't know shit about relationships, okay? I don't know how to make 'em work. I don't know how to be a boyfriend." He grabbed her hand and wove his fingers through hers. "But I know that the idea of you walking back in that house and fucking around with that guy again? It makes me nauseous."

Standing, Trish pointed her rose off the porch. "Thanks for stopping by, Orton. I think you're done here."

He didn't move, only looked at her with a flat expression. "The idea of you being with anyone else pisses me off more than I want it to. And do you know what's even worse?"

"The fact that you won't stop moving your mouth?" Trish asked, growing irritated as she crossed her arms and leaned against the railing of the porch.

"No, smartass. The fact that I want to move on. I want to add you to the record books and move on with my fucking life." He stood and quickly closed the gap between them, their chests touching as he looked down into her hazel eyes and held her smooth cheek in his palm. "And I can't do it."

Trish said nothing, only blinked and licked her lips as he ran his thumb up and down her jaw line. He was so close. He smelled so good. His chest was rising and falling, and she could feel it, even through her thick sweater. A few more inches and she could remember how it felt to have his lips pressed against hers, to feel his tongue gliding over hers as his hands found their way up her shirt.

"I don't know how it happened, Trisha. How we happened," he shook his head and moved his hand to her shoulder. "I never meant for it to go that far, but I'm not sorry that it did. I'm not sorry that I let myself get close to you, and I'm not sorry that I had more fun with you than I've ever had with anybody." He cleared his throat and took a step back, returning his hands to his pockets. "I'm just sorry I didn't ask you to stay."

He was watching her, asking for some sort of response, and Trish wasn't sure she had one for him. She wasn't sure how she felt. "I had to go. It was for the best," she whispered, fighting the tears that she didn't want creeping in on her. "Even if you had asked me to stay, I'm not sure I should have."

Nodding, he turned on the porch and started for the stairs. "Maybe not," he shrugged. "Even if you're not my girl, I'd still love to have you there when I win the title," he added.

Trish watched him walking back toward the shadows and couldn't stop herself from calling out again. "Orton!" When he turned, she bit her lip nervously. "You think you're even ready for a girlfriend?"

Without hesitation, he nodded. "I'll call you whatever you want me to, Trisha. Just let me know."

When he was gone, she sank to her seat again and shook her head, staring at the rose in her hand. He had flown all the way to Canada to win her back. Picking up the tickets in her hands, she sighed. Now she had three weeks to decide whether or not he had wasted the trip.


	12. So Alive

**A/N: So this is it, Kids - the end of Scar Tissue 2. Those of you who have already read my profile page know that this is also the last story that I will be posting - actually, my other story has one more chapter, but as far as Randy and Trish are concerned, this is it for me.**

**To all of you who have faithfully read and reviewed my work from the beginning, thank you so much. You will never know how hard it is for me to walk away from this, from all of you. You've been my confidence when I didn't have any on my own. You've been my determination when I wanted to quit, or slack off. I hope you've found some sort of connection with Trish and Randy through this story, or at the very least, have found entertainment in their antics. That's all I've ever really wanted my stories to accomplish.**

**One final thing before you read the story - Trish Stratus and Randy Orton are my absolute favorite pairing to write. Though I've spent some time in the world of OCs and a few other superstars, my greatest passion is in developing the connection between these two. Letting go of that is probably the hardest thing about stepping away from fan fiction. Fortunately, I have found someone I feel is above and beyond qualified to carry on the "legacy." (Wow, I sound really self-inflated, don't I?) **

**Anyway, if you find yourself suffering through Trish/Randy withdrawals, check out Immaculata's "Follow Me Home." My boy Reece is so fucking talented, and I would love it if you would all throw some love his way! I know that's what I'll be reading when I miss these two crazy kids.**

**Okay - without further ado, I give you the final curtain call:**

**Scar Tissue 2: Irreversible Damage**

_"Got no way of knowing exactly where I'm going, but I feel so alive. Everything is changing. Life is rearranging, but I feel so alive."_

XXXXX

"You look like shit."

Randy raised his eyes to glower at the champion standing beside him. The Royal Rumble was well under way, and he would be up shortly. "So do you," he shot back, raising an eyebrow in defiance.

"You wanna know what I heard?" Edge asked, lowering himself to the seat beside his co-worker and opponent for the night. Even though the pair weren't really friends, there had always been a level of respect between them, a love for what they did that transcended the need for a secret handshake or drinks together at a club.

Shrugging, Randy cleared his throat. He really didn't want to know what Edge had heard. Mostly because he knew that it had something to do with Trish and he was trying his best not to think about her.

Since leaving her house in Toronto, he hadn't spoken to his ex-girlfriend. There was no sign that she would show up tonight, and he was trying not to care. Refusing to ask any of her friends what she was up to, or if she was back with Carter, he did everything in his power to shove her out of his mind. A few of them had managed to give him tidbits of information, but he pretended not to care.

With a nod, Edge hitched his belt onto his shoulder and savored the weight of it one last time. In less than an hour, he would lose the belt to Randy, and he wanted to hold on to it for as long as he could before then. "Alright, then," he said, turning to leave.

"Edge." The words tumbled out of Randy's mouth before he could stop them. "What did you hear?" He wanted to play cool, but he wanted Trish there even more. Once he knew for sure that she wanted nothing to do with him, then he would move on. But he had to know for sure.

Shaking his head, Edge ran his fingers through his blonde locks. "She wanted to make it, man, but she's working."

As Edge walked away, Randy felt his shoulders sag. Victoria told him that Trish had landed a leading role on a new television series being shot near her house in Toronto. He was proud of her, but wished that she would have told him herself.

_Of course_, he thought as he began walking toward the gorilla position, _why would she tell me? _

By the time Lilian Garcia announced his match, Randy had resigned himself to the fact that he had ruined the best thing that had ever happened to him. It wasn't unusual - he was good at ruining the good things. But this time, it bothered him. At least he could take out some of his disappointment and frustration in the ring.

XXXXX

_Anyone who thinks this shit is fake needs to walking a fucking yard in this body, _Randy thought as he gingerly hoisted his duffle bag over his shoulder. Thirty minutes and three spears into his match, he had known that he wouldn't be running to the car when the night was over. Hell, he'd be lucky to roll out of bed tomorrow after everything he and Edge had done to each other.

But the crowd had been good, and they had managed to pull out all the stops, so he really couldn't complain as he made his way toward the exit of the arena, prepping himself for the straggling fans who always seemed to be waiting for autographs.

The silence that greeted him under the twinkling stars was welcome. Looking around to make sure he had used the right exit, Randy stopped short and nearly dropped his bag.

"Hell of a match, Champ," Trish smiled, resting comfortably against the seat of her silver Harley Davidson.

He wanted to run to her, but his sense of cool kept him firmly in place. "You made it," he said simply. He was too tired to muster the elation that he was actually feeling.

With a nod, she pushed off the bike and walked toward him. "Had a hell of a time getting off work, but yeah," she nodded, stopping right next to him. "I made it."

He was glad she was there, that she had managed to rearrange her busy schedule for him. But the skeptic in him was still clawing at his gut. "Why?" he asked.

Trish looked up into his blue eyes and tucked her hands into the pockets of her jeans. "Because you asked me to," she said easily with a shrug. "Because I wanted to see my man do what he does best."

The smirk found his lips naturally. "This," he patted the belt on his shoulder, "isn't what I do best, Stratus."

With a matching grin, she nodded and raised an eyebrow. "I know, Orton."

Dropping his bag to the ground, Randy put both hands on her waist and smiled down at the tiny woman in his arms. Her innuendo was clear, and he wasn't about to turn her away. The look they shared cemented the fact that they were ready to move their relationship forward, but Randy stopped himself from kissing her full lips.

"Follow me to the hotel," he whispered, pressing his mouth to her forehead before picking his bag back up. It wasn't that he didn't want to kiss her. Quite the opposite - he was afraid if he started, he would just lay her down on the cold asphalt and have his way with her right there. Though it wouldn't be the first time, it didn't seem appropriate at the moment.

As Trish trailed Randy's car, she revelled at the feeling of the cool wind in her hair. She was well-aware that she was his first real girlfriend, at least for as long as she had known him. And she was also aware that their relationship wasn't garunteed to last. Distance and history alone told her that they were logically determined to fail miserably.

But she didn't give a damn about logic anymore. She didn't care about his history, or her own. She didn't care about the rocky path they had taken to get there. The only thing that mattered was that she wanted to be there, with him, more than she wanted anything in a long time.

The rest, she thought as Randy met her in the parking lot and wove his fingers through hers, would just have to work itself out.


End file.
